


Overtime

by foxcatcher



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Belts, Bratting, Community: wrestlingkink, Daddy Kink, Dom/sub, Edgeplay, M/M, Office Sex, Prompt Fill, Punishment, Spanking, Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-07
Updated: 2019-02-07
Packaged: 2019-10-23 23:19:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17693069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxcatcher/pseuds/foxcatcher
Summary: Pete is stubborn. Regal is endlessly patient. They've been at a standstill for ages.





	Overtime

**Author's Note:**

> A quick (for me) little fill to keep things going, based on this prompt from the kinkmeme:
> 
> "Pete Dunne/William Regal, daddy kink. What it says on the tin. Bonus points for spanking."

_1 hour and 38 minutes and counting._

Pete couldn’t for the life of him remember what he’d done to end up here, braced against the office desk while Regal worked inches away, ignoring him, but he’d clearly fucked up. Maybe he’d given Regal attitude during training earlier. Maybe he’d talked back in front of the others.

It might have had something to do with him calling Walter a wanker to his face. _Maybe._

His knuckles were turning white where they were clenched against the edge of the desk - he was fully dressed, uncomfortable and sweating in his hoodie, with an _evil_ toy inside him, smooth and thick and angled so it bumped into his prostate every time he shifted.

_1 hour and 39 minutes and counting._

It was pretty hard to keep track of time when all your concentration went into supporting your legs. Which was probably why Regal had put him on the side of the desk facing the clock, the bastard, so he’d know _exactly_ how long he’d been bent against the desk, watching each second crawl past slower than the previous. Every muscle in his body ached. He wasn’t allowed to lie or lean down, or to move his hands, and his legs were shaking with the effort of not moving. Even his jaw hurt. There had to be tooth prints embedded in the leather by now – one of the first things Regal had done after he’d dragged him into his office was to take his belt off, fold it and push it between his teeth for him to hold, like a threat. Or maybe a promise.

_1 hour and 40 minutes and counting._

Regal shifted in his chair, shuffling his papers around.

“And how are we doing?” he asked breezily, like he was writing an HR report rather than torturing Pete. 

Pete swallowed.

“…f’ne.”

It didn’t take a genius to see that he wasn’t. The room was too hot, too quiet, the ticking of the clock was too loud. He was pretty sure Regal had avoided turning on the radio or anything like that on purpose.

The older man sighed, like it was all just a big inconvenience to him.

“I’m clocking in overtime for you here, you know. Might I suggest you speed things up?”

Pete scowled at him as best as he could, drooling around the belt. Fuck him. Fuck his office. Fuck everything. Regal wasn’t going to win this one. He turned back to stare at the wall, listening to the relentless ticking and tried to focus on anything but the dull, mounting pressure inside him.

_1 hour and 45 minutes and counting._

He was trying so hard to keep still and it didn’t make a lick of difference. Every microscopic movement he made seemed to jostle the plug, never enough to actually get him off, but enough that his cock was pressing painfully against the zipper of his jeans, no relief in sight. He felt like he was losing his mind. Maybe he could sneak a hand down to adjust himself, just to take the worst edge off it? Regal had barely looked at him this entire time, surely he wouldn’t notice…

“Hands where I can see them, Pete,” Regal said, as if he could read his mind. He didn’t even look up from his work. Pete ground his teeth into the belt, tears of frustration prickling behind his eyes, but kept his hands down, clenched onto the edge of the desk. What could the man even be doing that took this long? His legs were trembling badly now, aching with the need to move. Before he could stop it, his knee buckled, pressing the plug directly into the little bundle of nerves. He groaned as he tried to steady himself against the desk, the sound of it jarring in the quiet room. It wasn’t enough. He could have cried with it. It felt like it would never be enough, the pressure inside him just slowly building into nothing, too much and too little all at once.

_1 hour and 46 minutes-_

The belt dropped onto the desk with a muted clang.

Pete breathed for a moment, watching his spit drip onto the smooth wooden surface. He could hear Regal put down his pen and turn in his chair. For a moment, there was only silence, apart from Pete’s laboured breaths. He could feel Regal’s eyes on him - watching him, deliberating.

“You know what to say.”

“’m sorry.” Pete bit out, head still down. He’d meant to say it properly. Honestly, he had, but it was too much effort, the words thick and sticky.

“Say it properly.” Regal’s tone was less patient this time, a steel edge creeping in.

“I’m sorry.”

“Getting warmer,” the older man pushed on. “I’m going to give you one more try.”

There was a pause as Pete tried to calm himself. He’d been hoping Regal wouldn’t make him say it, although the more rational part of him knew he would. He always did. That was how this worked.

“…I’m sorry, _daddy_.”

The shame burned red-hot through him, but there was also a heady rush of relief as he forced himself to say the words. “Please.”

Regal didn’t reply. Nothing to let Pete know if his (admittedly weak) apology had been accepted, or if he was allowed to move again, or even to remind him of whatever it was he’d done. Pete stayed put, knowing enough to not move before he was told he could, palms flat against the desk.

After what felt like an eternity, Regal got up from his seat and walked around him, reaching around Pete to unzip his jeans and pull them down his quivering thighs, along with his underwear. It hardly made a dent in the building tension, but it was still sweet enough that Pete nearly whimpered as his erection was released.

“It’s a start,” Regal said coolly, running a hand over Pete’s bare skin. “But I’m not so sure you’ve learned your lesson yet.”

Pete tensed in anticipation at the words. Regal’s hands were parting his cheeks, nudging at the base of the toy, making him bite his tongue to keep from moaning. The hands didn’t stop, nudging at it again, before pulling at the base, feeling Pete clench tightly around it.

“I think you need a firmer reminder,” the man continued, letting go of the plug. He reached over Pete’s shoulder to grab the belt from the desk, jostling the toy again, and this time Pete couldn’t stop the keen that clawed its way out of his throat.

“Keep your hands on the desk.” Regal’s voice was close to his ear, maddeningly calm and collected. Pete shuddered. “And _try_ to keep your voice down.”

The first blow took Pete by surprise. It wasn’t like he hadn’t been spanked with the belt before, but not like this, plugged and after being on edge for so long. He clenched his jaw, determined to keep control of his voice as Regal landed another stinging blow across his cheeks. It was a losing battle. It was as if everything was amplified through the toy, electric shocks shooting up his spine with every impact. The next blow tore a yelp out of him. He knew he must have done something serious since Regal hadn’t told him how many strokes he was going to give him. There was nothing he could do but take it, at his mercy until the older man decided he’d had enough.

He wasn’t sure how many blows Regal had got in before he was begging pathetically - _“O-oh, please, please, da-ddy, please-“_ He would have been ashamed of himself if he wasn’t so close - he didn’t even know what he was begging for – for him to stop, or keep going, or just _something_. Regal kept going, undeterred, every measured blow aimed at the toy, pushing Pete closer to the edge, and then he was coming against the side of the desk, moaning desperately.

-

Pete hissed as Regal gently slid the plug out of him. He stroked the red marks he’d left on the boy, both to soothe and to prolong the pain, and Pete couldn’t tell which was better. He twitched under the touch, oversensitive, head resting against his arms as Regal continued to caress the raw skin.

“And what does my good boy say now?” the man asked, voice firm, but warm.

“T-thank you, daddy.”

And he meant it. He knew Regal was being kinder to him than he needed to be. Hearing his own voice, Pete realised he must have cried at some point, eyes still damp when he rubbed a hand over them, but despite it, his mind felt clear and light. Regal had walked back to his workspace and sat down. Pete looked up at him – the older man was facing him, chair pushed away from the desk and legs parted. His hand was resting on his zipper.

“I think you’ve earned yourself a reward. Don’t you?”

“Yes, daddy,” he said, already sinking to his knees.


End file.
